Chapter 11

Chapter Eleven

T o Maclean's relief, Ardloch was still thirty miles across the hills, but to get there meant driving on a single winding road with passing points. He would much rather have walked.

They hadn't left as early as Bella would have liked. Gregor had sent a man to hammer and swear at the machine that worked the heating and the hot water. Maclean knew Bella was worrying he might speak, so he said and did nothing. At least it answered the question as to whether others could see him—they couldn't.

The man was there for a long time, and then Bella gave him tea, and bread with thin slices of meat inside it, and ate some herself. It wasn't until he was gone that they were able to set out at last for Ardloch.

Now Maclean sat in the car beside her, stiff as a poker. Being inside such a thing was much more frightening than he had imagined it would be, but he didn't want her to know how he was feeling, despite the fact she could not see him. The Black Maclean was afraid of nothing; he had a reputation to maintain.

"Are you all right?" She seemed to know anyway.

"Perfectly."

The road rushed toward them through the glass wall, and the rocks and gorse and heather skimmed by so fast they were a blur. His eyes ached from trying to make sense of it, and in the end he shut them tightly and prayed for it to end.

Two hundred and fifty years ago, Ardloch had been a small fishing village on the coast that held a cattle market every month—a gathering point for fishermen and crofters, shepherds and thieves to come and buy and sell their wares, meet up and get drunk and eye any women less than eighty years old for the position of future wife or lover. Try as he might, he could not imagine it as other than a smoky cluster of dirty stone cottages with sagging peat roofs, smelling of fish, with animals running wild in the streets.

He wondered what Bella hoped to achieve in such a place. If she showed her laptop, as she called it, to the people of Ardloch they would laugh in her face. Or burn her for a witch.

She was a sort of a witch. Not like the Fiosaiche . Bella was his witch. He had thought on her long into the night, remembering how she had responded to his touch, and wondering if he would ever have the chance to do it again. She had enjoyed it, he knew she had, but she was frightened of him. How could he blame her for that? And yet it frustrated him. He was the Maclean and he was used to obedience. Bella had been prepared to send him away last night, and although he had no intention of going, he had felt a sense of anger and helpless-ness previously quite alien to him.

She was a woman and he was the Maclean, yet she held the upper hand. He had to coerce her by agreeing to help her with her accursed book, the last thing he wanted to do. Of course, he could have used physical force, but Maclean could not bring himself to do that. He had never used force on a woman before.

What about Ishbel? Dinna ye force her to your will by taking her hostage?

He shivered.

There was something wrong; he sensed it. In his dream last night the hideous old woman who claimed to be the doorkeeper to the between-worlds said the door was open. And later, during their conversation in the kitchen, Bella had asked him whether he was certain the door was closed and he hadn't answered her. Because he just wasn't sure.

If it was open, what did that mean? It would certainly explain the origin of the rider who had tried to attack Bella, but it did not explain why he had done so. What else was waiting on the other side?

"We're here."

Her voice startled him into opening his eyes, and at first he was too surprised to answer. This was Ardloch? Before him was a sprawl of houses against the blue waters of the bay. Ardloch had changed a great deal since he was last here. As they drove down into the center of the town, he could see that the buildings were strongly made with square lines and glass windows, and the streets were paved in gray and there were motorcars everywhere.

"It must be market day."

"They still have a market here?" He was comforted to know that at least some things hadn't changed.

"Yes. I'll just find a place to park."

Bella slowed to dodge around something she called a van, and passed a shop that sold bread. The warm, mouthwatering smell of it caught Maclean's attention briefly, but he couldn't concentrate. Ardloch had changed in other ways as well. It was bigger and busier. There were people in the streets, and they were dressed similarly to Bella, though some of them far more outlandishly.

There were strangers in his country.

Or maybe it was Maclean who was the stranger.

Bella had found her place to park and now she angled her car into it, turning the wheel as she inched her way back and forth until she was satisfied. Maclean felt his heart beating hard and did not breathe until she was done. She turned and smiled encouragingly at the place she presumed he was, as if she knew how he must be feeling. Maclean had discovered since they set out this morning that Bella had made up her mind to accept his presence completely and not argue over what was possible and what was not.

He just wished she'd stop treating him as if he were coming down with something, just because he was invisible.

"Now, I thought that I'd take the laptop into the electronics shop to be repaired, and then we can go to the museum. What do you think?" Her voice was high, as if she were even more nervous than before.

"Verra well," he replied cautiously.

She nodded, went to get out, and then hesitated and looked back over her shoulder. "Maclean, I'll open your door, okay? In case anyone notices if you do it by yourself. And I won't be able to speak to you when we're with other people. It wouldn't look good, you know. And you shouldn't speak, either, just in case they can hear you. You'll frighten them. Just stay close to me and we'll be all right."

Orders from a woman! But this was Bella, he reminded himself, and he didn't mind so much. "Verra well," Maclean repeated stiffly.

She opened her car door to climb out.

The noise flooded in, unfamiliar and distracting. He could hear the engines of other cars and some sort of loud music—was it music?—from an open doorway across the narrow street. A bell was ringing persistently from another shop doorway, and a group of children with an adult at their head walked in line, their clothing all the same.

Bella came around to his door and opened it, pretending to look for something in the passenger side of the car. Hastily Maclean climbed out and she slammed it, and then she did something with her key that made the car beep. Finally, with a warning glance in his direction, she set off.

As he walked close by Bella's side, peering at the faces he passed, he realized with a sense of relief that they weren't really strangers. These faces were the same as, or similar to, the faces he had known two hundred and fifty years ago. Scottish faces, Gaelic faces, Highland faces.

There were a few that startled him, faces of different colors, but Maclean had read of countries far away, and the possibility that people from these countries had traveled to Ardloch was not beyond his ken.

A woman was walking toward them talking into a small black box like Bella's, but this one had no cord attached. Maclean stared at her, completely bemused. The woman knocked against his arm and bounced back, a look of shocked surprise on her face. She turned and glared at Bella as if it were her fault, and hurried off.

"Maclean," Bella hissed anxiously.

He was stunned. The woman had felt him. He was still invisible, but now he was solid and real, something he had definitely not been a few days ago. Was he becoming a mortal man again? Whatever he was doing, the Fiosaiche was pleased with him. He knew it had something to do with Bella. If only he could pinpoint exactly what it was. . .

Bella spoke again, sounding panicky. "Maclean? Are you there?" Several people glanced at her questioningly as they walked by.

Maclean shook himself out of his stupor and reached out a hand and clamped it around her arm.

She jumped.

He leaned in close, his front pressed to her back, and bent his head so that his lips were against the sweet shell of her ear. "I'm here."

"Oh. Yes."

She sounded dazed, standing perfectly still, as if afraid to move. Or maybe, like Maclean, she was just enjoying the moment.

"I feel like I know ye, Bella," he went on quietly. "Ye are no stranger to me."

"Yes, I feel like that, too, Maclean," she admitted reluctantly. "It's very odd."

Passersby stepped around them and the noise went on, but Maclean did not see or hear—he and Bella had made a special place amid the chaos—and besides, her body felt so good against his. He slid his arms about her waist, beneath her pink jacket, and enjoyed that, too. The top of her head came to his chin, just, and her bottom nestled very nicely against his groin.

Aye, verra nicely indeed.

"You are a fine woman, do ye know that, Bella?"

Bella wondered if this was really happening. Here she was, standing in the middle of busy Ardloch High Street being groped by a ghostly Highlander, and he was obviously very happy to see her.

"Maclean!" she hissed. "I didn't think ghosts could . . . could . . ."

He chuckled and made goose bumps up and down her arms. "Neither did I. Proves I'm not a ghost."

An old man in a kilt wandered past and gave her a curious smirk. Bella blushed, realizing how odd she must appear, and gave Maclean a little jab in the midriff with her elbow. He huffed in her ear and let her go.

"Stop it," she said loudly as she stepped away, and then froze.

What on earth was she doing? Apart from the series of uneasy looks she was getting from the people around her, she had just jabbed Maclean in the stomach. The Black Maclean, the black-hearted villain of legend who was in league with the devil. He could kill her . . . couldn't he?

And then she heard his laugh, so soft she had to strain to hear it. She amused him. He wasn't angry with her, his male pride wasn't hurt, he didn't feel the need to strike out at her or threaten her. He had laughed at her, but it was a friendly teasing laugh, and she realized with surprise that Maclean liked her.

Just as she liked him.

It made her feel even guiltier for what she had planned for him in the museum. The plan had seemed to make perfect sense last night. He had told her he couldn't remember his past, so this would be a sort of test, to see if he was telling her the truth. Now she was wondering if it was such a great idea after all.

* * *

The electronics shop, as Bella called it, was like a cave, full of machines with moving pictures on large and small screens or boxes with flashing lights and loud, jarring sounds. Maclean squinted his eyes and wished he could do the same with his ears. How could the people in here put up with such a din? And yet they seemed immune to it, even enjoyed it, if he went by the blissful looks on their faces. Maclean shook his head in amazement as he followed Bella to an alcove at the back, where there was a counter and behind it a man in a shirt the color of mud. She handed over her writing machine.

"I don't know what happened," she said, and proceeded to blather on, making herself sound more foolish with each passing minute.

Maclean wondered what was wrong with her; this wasn't the Bella he had come to know.

The man was frowning. A man? More of a lad, really, barely old enough to shave. And he didn't like the way the lad was looking at Bella, with his lip curled, as if she were just a silly woman and a waste of his precious time. Maclean wanted to shout at him that this was Bella and he'd best treat her with respect if he knew what was good for him.

"Could it be something simple, like a fuse?"

The lad gave a scornful laugh.

Bella's cheeks colored, but she bit her lip as she watched the lad fiddle with the machine, taking bits off it and peering inside.

"Hmm," he said, and then he darted a sly glance at her breasts.

Maclean went still, his own eyes narrowing.

"Hard drive . . . motherboard . . . drivers . . ."

The conversation passed over Maclean's head, but from the disappointed look on Bella's face he guessed the problem was worse than she had thought. And all the while he was showing off, the lad was looking at her chest.

Maclean bristled, the hairs standing up on his body like a dog's. If he could have growled, he would have.

"I need to save my documents," Bella said anxiously, leaning forward over the counter as if to snatch back her machine. "I didn't have a chance to make a copy. It all happened so quickly."

The lad's gaze dropped to her breasts again—he wasn't even trying to hide what he was doing now—before his attention returned to the machine. "You should always make a copy," he said, and yawned. His eyes dropped again, longer this time.

Bella stepped back and wrapped her jacket tightly about her chest and folded her arms. Maclean realized she felt threatened, embarrassed by the lad's obvious interest. "I know," she was saying. "I just . . . I was so caught up in what I was doing that I forgot. Copying documents wasn't uppermost in my mind."

"There's no excuse," he said sanctimoniously.

Maclean had had enough. He gritted his teeth. He'd have that laddie by the scruff and give him a thrashing he'd long remember. His hand dropped to the handle of his claidheamh mor and he imagined swinging it in an arc, removing the lad's sneer and his head. There would be satisfaction in that, aye, but he could see it might not be a sensible thing to do while he was invisible. And Bella would be upset.

"I know," she was blathering again, "I'm sorry. Can you just save what's on there? I understand if the laptop is past it, but I really need the documents."

He made a face, enjoying his power over her. "I can't promise anything."

"But you'll try, yes?"

His eyes slid down again, and Maclean thought he was going to explode.

"I'll try. Leave your number with the girl at the front and I'll give you a ring when I've finished. Probably be two weeks. We have a waiting list, you know."

Bella nodded, thanked him again, and turned toward the front of the shop. The laddie gave her a long look from the back. Maclean stepped around the counter and in close, without touching him. He leaned toward his ear, until he could smell the overripe body beneath the lad's clothes.

"Ye'll no' look at her again without the proper respect, or I'll make my home in your wee shop. Do ye hear me?"

The lad heard him.

It suddenly occurred to Maclean that whenever he stood up for Bella in his thoughts or actions he became more mortal and less of a ghostie. Something to keep in mind for the future, but just now he was otherwise occupied.

The lad was looking as if he might faint, his face white, with the freckles standing out like grains of sand. He was only a lad, Maclean reminded himself, probably at the age when all he thought about was lassies, and Bella was very much the sort of girl that men dreamed of at night. But even a randy lad needed to learn respect.

"Who's there?" he gasped, swinging around wildly.

"Never you mind," Maclean whispered, stepping away, out of reach. "Just make sure ye do what she asked ye to do an' I'll no' return. Otherwise . . ." He reached close again, and gave the boy a clip behind the head, not hard enough to hurt him seriously, but enough to send him stumbling against the wall.

"Oooh God!" He cowered, covering his head with his arms.

"Do ye promise?"

"I promise, I promise, just leave me alone."

Her transaction completed, Bella had left the shop, and Maclean, satisfied with his own result, hastened after her.

A shower of rain had come through Ardloch while they were inside, making the paving shine, and there were less cars and people about. Maclean sniffed the salt of the ocean and smiled.

Bella was still holding her jacket tight about her, and as Maclean watched, she zipped it up to her neck and then dug her fists into the pockets. It hung down to midthigh, covering her, so that it was difficult to know how curved and gorgeous she was underneath it.

Maclean frowned as he watched her, remembering how he had thought once before that Bella was ashamed of her body. The lad had been admiring her—not so subtly, it was true—but instead of getting angry, Bella seemed to think his glances were some kind of judgment on her, and not a favorable one.

Maclean tried to peer into her face, but her head was bowed, her hair falling about it, and there was a crease between her dark brows. Aye, Bella wasn't happy.

Maclean slipped his hand around her arm, curving his fingers about her elbow in a firm, strong grip. Her head swung up, startled, and for a moment he let himself pretend that she could see him, that her eyes were looking into his rather than slightly past his nose.

"You're a lush beauty, Bella Ryan. You have a body any man would be happy to die dreaming of. You canna blame the lad for looking at what he will never have, even if he is a randy wee bastard. Dinna let him make you feel uncomfortable, you are far too fine for him. You should hold your head up and be proud."

For a moment she stared, shocked by his words, and then laughter bubbled to her lips and made her cheeks glow and her dark eyes shine. She put her hand to her mouth and her shoulders shook. Maclean wondered why she found his words so humorous, but with her eyes sparkling and her face flushed she was so delicious that he wasn't insulted one bit. In fact he joined in with a guffaw of his own.

"Maclean," she managed at last, "you're nothing like the legend."

"Och, well, I think that must be a good thing," he replied cautiously.

"Yes." Bella bit her lip and sobered. "I know you're trying to help, but it's just . . ." She glanced at him sideways. "Women have come a long way since you were around, Maclean. We demand to be treated as equals, we have our own lives and aren't dependent on men. We're not objects, not things to be owned or checked out . . . eh, inspected, like cattle in a market stall. You think it's okay that . . . that boy in there admires my . . . my assets, as long as he isn't too obvious about it. Well, it makes me angry when I'm being judged solely by the size of my breasts."

Maclean cleared his throat. He had noticed the size of her breasts from the first moment he saw her, and the sight of them still made him dizzy with lust. But he didn't think he should tell Bella that when she was looking so fierce.

"Why are men like that, Maclean? Like . . . like animals."

"Aye, em, well, that's a difficult question. Mabbe it's because men's brains are closer to those of beasts, Bella. Wolves only think about eating and sleeping and . . . em, female wolves, don't they? Why should a man be any different?"

"I see. So women have evolved and men are just slower at it." Bella smiled and nodded. "Good point. Are you a beast, Maclean?"

Jesus, she wasn't one to skip around a thing. Maclean decided that if she was being direct, then it was only fair he should be, too.

"Aye, sometimes I am verra much a beast, and sometimes I lock my beast away in his cage, but he's always there. I can never be entirely free of him and I dinna think I would want to. He's what keeps me alive."

She nodded, and her beautiful face was somber. "So I should beware? Thank you, Maclean."

He cleared his throat again. "Where do we go to now, lass?"

Bella gave a sideways glance in his direction. "We'd better get on to the museum now, and then I need to stop in at the library."

There was something in her manner that made him suspicious. Bella was up to something and she wasn't very good at hiding it. "What is a museum, woman?" he asked brusquely.

"Well"—Bella wouldn't look toward him at all now—"there are different museums. Clothing museums, train museums, toy museums. This is a folk museum, which preserves Ardloch's past; places like this help us to understand days gone by." Bella tucked her hair nervously behind her ear. "I seem to remember seeing your name in there, Maclean."

Was that what was wrong with her? Was she thinking he'd make a commotion? Was she testing him in some way?

Maclean felt his heart sink. He didn't want Bella to know how desperate he was. Her opinion of him mattered, and he didn't want her to think him a lesser man.

"Lead the way, lass," he said, with as much bravado as he could manage.